Yesterday was an extra-long dayfor the boy with no armsor legs. Neighborhood childrenplayed outside his window.A soft machine, they circled,joined hands, closed eyes,jumped up and down: shoelaces,giggles moving in time.One caught the boy peering.The boy contorted out of sight,his breaths lumped on one anotherlike cows in a mat house.He twisted too slow. Look,it's the turtle! The childrengassed like an audienceresponding to a laugh sign.He shifted his weight left to rightback left, again right,then felt from his chair- a pilotballing out of a crashing plane.He was familiar with thisFalling. So was his mother.She'd surrounded his chairwith six layers of towels.He waited there like a spilled bucketof green paint. When he no longer heardany semblance of playing,he called his mom for help.